Secret

  Then her mother spoke.

  “How could you do that?” she said, her voice cracked and raw. And slurring. She took a few steps toward the couch. “How could you, Quinn?”

  Quinn swallowed. “I didn’t—I didn’t do—”

  “Shut up! Shut up! You’re out whoring around and now you—”

  “I’m not whoring around!” Quinn was on her feet, ready to get in her mother’s face.

  “Take it easy.” Tyler had a hand on her arm, and his voice was quiet. “Let’s just walk out.”

  “Shut up!” Quinn’s mom shrieked. “You were here, too! You did this! He had a future, you bitch! You screw up everything! Everything!”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Now Quinn was crying, and she didn’t care. “He was—”

  “Shut up!” The words were practically unintelligible with rage. “Shut the fuck up! You did this! You!”

  And then, without warning, her mom crumpled to the carpet, sobbing, the trophy pressed to her face.

  Quinn stood there, shaking. She couldn’t breathe. She didn’t know what to do.

  Tyler’s voice was low. “Let’s get out of here, Quinn.”

  But she couldn’t leave, not like this. Some part of her couldn’t leave her mother a weeping mess on the floor. The drooping side of the bathrobe gaped now, revealing a sagging breast. Hair was sticking to her mother’s saliva. She wailed.

  Quinn went to her, dropping to her knees. “Mom. Mom, stop. Please, let me help you.” She put a hand on a shaky shoulder. “Mom, it’s okay—”

  “Don’t touch me! You ruin everything!”

  Then her mom swung at her with the trophy.

  Quinn didn’t even see it coming. The marble base caught her square in the face. She saw stars. Constellations. Whole frigging galaxies. Then blackness.

  She wasn’t out for long. She came to in Tyler’s arms, still in her apartment foyer. Her mother was shrieking at them to get out, to get the fuck out, to get that whore out of her apartment. Quinn couldn’t seem to get her eyes to focus on anything, from Tyler’s face, to the doorway, to the dashboard in front of her when Tyler buckled her into the seat.

  “Fuck this,” he said, starting his ignition, but not shifting into gear. He pulled his phone out of his pocket.

  Quinn struggled to get her limbs to respond. “No,” she said. “No police.”

  Tyler sucked in a long breath and touched her face. “Sweetheart, I think you need an ambulance.”

  “No. Please. No. They’ll call—they’ll call—”

  She couldn’t get her voice to work, and she realized she was crying.

  “Shh,” said Tyler. “It’s all right. I’ll just drive you to the hospital. Okay?” He shifted into gear.

  “No. No. They’ll make me go to a foster home or something. Please, Tyler. Please.” She was hiccupping now, ugly crying, full out. “Please. No.”

  He stopped at the end of the parking lot and looked at her. “You need help. She might have broken your cheekbone.” He winced. “Your face is already swelling.”

  She knew it was. She could feel it all the way into her eye. “Can’t you heal it?”

  He looked back at the road. His voice was suddenly hollow. “I don’t know. I don’t know if I could.”

  “Nick healed me once. Please, Tyler. Please, I can’t—I can’t—”

  “Okay,” he said softly. “Okay.” He rubbed at his temples, then pulled out of the parking lot.

  “No hospital,” she said. Her words were slurring, and it reminded her of her mother. That made fresh tears well.

  You ruin everything.

  Her breath caught and stuttered.

  “Easy,” said Tyler. “No hospital, okay?”

  “Then where?” He hit a bump and a wave of pain swept through her face, and she almost reconsidered.

  “The beach,” he said. “I need fire.”

  Quinn felt like time somehow vanished.

  Stars scattered overhead, spinning wildly every time she moved her eyes. She lay in the sand, beside a roaring bonfire that seemed to stretch a mile high. The heat was intense, forcing sweat from her skin. Her head pounded like her mother kept swinging that trophy over and over again.

  Tyler crouched over her, stroking his finger along her cheek, so lightly that Quinn barely felt it. “She broke the skin, too.”

  Quinn sniffed and put a hand to her eyes, but she felt the edge of the swelling and dropped her hand. “I don’t—I don’t know why she hates me.”

  “I don’t think she hates you, baby girl,” he said. “I think she hates herself.”

  She gave half a choked sob. “I feel ridiculous when you call me that.”

  “Do you want me to stop?”

  She shook her head. The motion hurt. She wanted to throw up. Nausea meant broken bones, didn’t it? She was terrified to touch her cheek, to feel whether anything would shift.

  “Heal it,” she said. “Please.”

  “Quinn—” His voice was tight. Distressed. “Maybe I should just take you to the hospital. This was a bad idea.”

  “No. No, I’m okay.” She struggled to get her arm underneath her.

  Wrong idea. The horizon shifted. So did the contents of her stomach. She gagged and almost threw up.

  “Whoa,” said Tyler. He gently eased her back down. The fire seemed to blaze brighter, or maybe her eyes were playing tricks.

  “Are you worried?” she said.

  “Worried?” He leaned close, his eyes picking up the glow from the fire.

  “That you can’t do it?”

  He grimaced and looked at the fire. “No.”

  She wanted to punch him, but she’d probably end up puking all over him instead. “Then what—why won’t you help me?” A thought occurred to her and she started crying again, shaking sobs that made her head pulse with pain. “Do you hate me, too? Did I fuck it up with you, too? Did I—”

  “No! No, Quinn. No.” He leaned close again, pressing a hand to her cheek. His palm was fire-hot, but it didn’t hurt. Instead, she wanted to lean into it.

  Then heat surged through her veins, fire swirling through every blood vessel, making her gasp.

  “I’m not worried because I don’t think I can help you,” Tyler said quietly, his eyes afraid, his expression intense. His voice dropped until she could barely hear him over the flames. “I’m worried because I know I can.”

  CHAPTER 18

  When Adam knocked on the front door, eagerness and panic were waging a full-on wrestling match in Nick’s stomach. What was he supposed to do, text everyone something like, Just want to make sure you’ll all be out past eleven. Nothing to see here. Just me and my textbook.

  He’d taken the fastest shower in the history of time and changed clothes, but it left him feeling more on edge. The whole five minutes he’d been in the shower, he worried Adam would show up at the same time as one of his brothers.

  But now Adam was here, knocking, and Nick couldn’t seem to get the door open fast enough.

  Somehow Adam managed to look better every time he saw him. The porch light threaded his hair with gold and painted shadows under his cheekbones.

  “You look nervous,” said Adam.

  “I am nervous,” Nick breathed. But you’re here. You’re on my doorstep. You’re in my space, and I don’t want you to go.

  Adam didn’t wait for an invitation. He moved across the threshold and pushed the door closed quietly behind him. “Are we still alone?”

  “Yeah.”

  Adam stepped forward and kissed him. Nothing hesitant, nothing unsure. Simply the soft pressure of his lips against Nick’s mouth. Then the first brush of tongue, lighting sparks in Nick’s body, sending his thoughts reeling. The room felt warmer, the air soft and welcoming, eager for the way his mood lightened in Adam’s presence.

  Adam shifted closer, until Nick could feel the heat of his chest and the brush of his hips. Then closer, his hands finding Nick’s face and winding in his hair.

  Nick made a low so
und and slid his hands under Adam’s coat, finding the warm muscled span of his waist.

  Adam drew back and smiled. His voice was soft in the space between them. “Keep going like that and we’ll never leave the foyer.”

  “Is it wrong that I don’t care?”

  Adam laughed. “I want to see where you live.”

  “It’s very exciting. Here, give me your coat.” And your shirt, and your—

  “It is exciting.” Adam shrugged out of his coat. “And I might not get another chance.”

  Well, that was sobering. But Nick took his coat and stashed it in the front closet.

  Adam followed him through the lower level without much comment, until they came full circle to the staircase.

  “No pictures,” said Adam.

  “What?”

  “There aren’t any pictures anywhere. Of your family. Or—” He hesitated, as if realizing he’d made a misstep. “Of your brothers.”

  Nick shrugged, but his shoulders felt tense again. “We used to have some. They were destroyed.”

  “Fire?”

  Nick shook his head. “It’s—it’s a long story.”

  A lie. It was a pretty short story, really. He didn’t want to relive it, but his brain was more than happy to supply the memories. While Nick and his brothers were at their parents’ funeral, Tyler and his best friend Seth had broken into the house. They’d destroyed every picture they could find.

  Nick remembered coming home, still shaken from watching glossy wooden boxes lowered into the ground, and finding shattered glass everywhere. Michael had called the cops. Chris had holed up in his room to cry. Gabriel had stormed out—probably on a mission of vengeance.

  Nick had cleaned up the mess.

  Five years, and the memory still had the power to knock the breath out of him. “I don’t really want to talk about this.”

  “I’m sorry,” Adam said softly. “I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s fine.” Nick tried to shake off the emotion, but it wouldn’t loosen. “It’s a stupid thing to be upset about—I mean, we still have old memory cards and stuff. We just—we never reprinted anything. And then after they were gone, no one really felt like taking pictures of anything meaningful.”

  “Your brothers weren’t into trips to Sears wearing identical sweaters?”

  Nick half smiled. “No.”

  Adam pulled his phone out of his pocket and held it up. “Say cheese.”

  “Don’t take my—”

  “Too late.” He turned it around so Nick could see.

  Adam had snapped the picture before Nick had started talking, so the photo captured his mouth in a thin line. His shoulders were hunched and his eyes dark.

  “Delete it,” he said.

  “No way.” Adam leaned close to whisper along his jaw. “I felt like taking a picture of something meaningful.”

  Nick blushed. There was a good chance he might melt right down these steps.

  Adam grinned and said, “Wait, now I need another picture.”

  This time, Nick let him, but then he snatched the phone out of Adam’s fingers.

  “If you delete them, I’ll just have to take more.”

  “I’m not deleting them.” Nick turned the phone around and took a picture of Adam. Unruly hair, crooked smile, solid grip on Nick’s heart.

  He texted it to himself.

  Adam took his hand and tugged. “Come on. Show me the upstairs.”

  At the top of the stairs, Nick pointed at each room in turn. “Chris, Michael, Gabriel, me. And the bathroom. I told you: thrilling.”

  But there was something thrilling about Adam’s being here, in the upstairs hallway, breathing the same air. Anxiety had faded, leaving only longing and contentment.

  Adam started forward, and Nick expected him to head for his bedroom. But Adam went to Gabriel’s door.

  Nick didn’t follow him, but he crossed his arms to lean against the wall. He didn’t want to think about Gabriel now.

  “I expected your brother to be a slob,” Adam said, leaning around the door frame to peer in.

  Gabriel kind of was a slob, but they’d all learned pretty quickly that if they left the place a mess, there wasn’t anyone around to pick up after them. Nick frowned. “Why?”

  “Because he’s careless.”

  “He’s not—”

  “He is. He’s hurting you and he doesn’t even realize it.”

  Nick couldn’t exactly deny that.

  Adam abandoned Gabriel’s room and moved to Nick’s doorway. “Can I go in?”

  Nick nodded and followed.

  But Adam stopped short. Nick knew what he’d spotted without even seeing around him. “What’s with the air mattress?”

  “Hunter sleeps there. He’s my temporary roommate.”

  “You didn’t say you had a roommate.”

  Nick shrugged. “I don’t really think about it.” He smiled. “Jealous?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Don’t be. He’s going through some stuff with his mom.” Nick paused and stepped around him to turn on the light. “He’s also Gabriel’s best friend.”

  Adam pulled out the desk chair and straddled it backward, leaning his arms on the back. “Then why doesn’t he room with Gabriel?”

  Nick shrugged and dropped onto the end of his bed. “I have more floor space. Gabriel and I used to share this room, until . . . well, until we didn’t have to anymore.”

  Until his parents had died, and Michael finally got around to cleaning out the master bedroom. It hadn’t happened right away. Two years had passed before any of them felt like changing around the sleeping arrangements.

  Gabriel had been eager for his own space. Nick hadn’t wanted him to go.

  And now the tables were turned, with a drawer full of college letters offering him a way out of this house. Maybe out of this town.

  “So serious,” said Adam quietly. “What’s rolling around in your head?”

  Nothing he wanted to talk about. “I’m glad you’re here.”

  “Me, too.” Adam paused, then unwound himself from the chair to join Nick on the end of the bed. He found Nick’s hand and threaded their fingers together.

  Then he said, “Are you still hoarding a stack of unopened mail?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why haven’t you opened them? What are you afraid of?”

  Nick shook his head. “I don’t know.”

  Adam hesitated. “I don’t think that’s true. You know.”

  He was right. Nick did know. Opening those letters would force him to make a choice. A decision about where his life was going.

  A decision about staying or leaving.

  “It’s so different for you,” Nick said. “You know you want to be a dancer. You know you’re good at it. I want—I—I don’t know.”

  “I don’t think it has anything to do with what you want, and more about what you don’t want. You don’t want to disappoint your brothers.” A pause. “Isn’t that the same reason you don’t want to tell them about you and me?”

  Nick looked away, but Adam kept a firm grip on his hand. “I’m not chastising you. I understand it. I know I’m disappointing my parents every day. But you know what? I can’t live my life for them. I have to live my life for me.”

  “You’re disappointing your parents?”

  Adam scoffed and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. “Please. You think they want their only child to be a dancer? My dad is always asking if I’m sure I don’t want to take a few pre-med classes. Me. Pre-med. I can’t even slice into frogs in biology.”

  “What does he do?”

  “He is a doctor.” Adam smiled. “Wait, ready for some irony? He’s a gynecologist. Mom tells him that he’s looked at so many vaginas that I came out predisposed to avoid them.”

  Nick burst out laughing.

  “There.” Adam whipped out his phone and snapped a picture. “I needed one with your smile.”

  “You’re incorrigible.” But Nick snatched the phone a
nd took another picture—of Adam trying to get it back.

  They wrestled for it, laughing, rolling, a tangle of limbs and mock fierceness. Then Adam’s lips found his, his body trapping Nick on the bed, the hand that had just been grappling for the phone stroking down the length of his chest, finding the hem of his shirt and sliding underneath.

  For the first time, Nick didn’t hesitate at his touch. Maybe it was Adam’s admission about his own insecurities, maybe it was the fact that they were here, in his room, in his space. Maybe it was the time limit, knowing this could be cut short at any moment if his brothers came home.

  Maybe it was Adam’s tongue drawing at his.

  A thumb brushed his nipple and Nick gasped, feeling it all the way through his body. He grabbed the hem of his own shirt and broke the kiss long enough to yank it over his head.

  Adam grinned. “Someone’s feeling more comfortable.”

  “Someone’s liking the feel of your hands.”

  “Just my hands?” Adam’s mouth descended on his neck, trailing lips and breath and teeth along Nick’s skin.

  Nick sucked in a breath—then held it when Adam kissed a line down his chest.

  Brown eyes flicked up to meet his. “What do you want?” Adam whispered.

  You.

  But he couldn’t say it.

  Adam brushed a kiss against his lips, then shifted off the bed.

  Nick caught his arm. “Don’t. Don’t go.”

  Low laughter. “I’m not going anywhere.” Adam stretched to turn off the light, sending the room into near darkness.

  When he reached for the door, Nick sat up on his elbows. “Leave it open so I can hear if anyone comes home.”

  Adam closed it halfway. Nick was going to protest even that, but then Adam pulled his shirt over his head, and Nick forgot his own last name.

  “Whoa,” he breathed. “I think you need to turn the light back on.”

  Adam crawled back on the bed, his dusky skin rolling with shadows as he moved. “You sweet-talker.”

  Nick wanted to reach out, to let his fingers drift across the muscled planes of Adam’s chest, but he couldn’t move. He’d spent so long denying any kind of attraction to a boy that having one shirtless in his bed was making every nerve ending hypersensitive. He felt like a land mine. One touch and he’d explode. “Why did you turn the light off?”